Monday, 17 May 2010

Desert Island Dicks

No idea if this's been done before (it probably has); sorry if I upset anyone by plundering it (I probably will) and annoy anyone by tagging them (inevitable) but...

Desert Island Discs. You know, that wonderfully twee Radio Four programme started by Roy Plomley, tackled from behind by Parky and then gently soothed back again by Sue Lawley and now Kirsty Young. (Incidentally, anyone else think that Kirsty Young bears an uncanny resemblance to Liz Jarvis? Never see them in the same room together, do you?) Anyway, 'Castaways' choose eight records (records - hah!) and wax lyrical about them on air for forty-five minutes before whittling the choice down to just one, and deciding on their favourite book. (The Bible, together with the complete works of Shakespeare, are already on the island luckily.)

Personally, I hardly ever listen. But when I do, I'm usually impressed. Fay Weldon was excellent the other day; Rob Brydon less so yesterday. But what I always do is mentally re-create my own list of eight songs and polish up the story that goes with each one. The thing is, it's always changing. It's so hard to settle on just eight discs. My Desert Island Discs is more dynamic than the Tots 100 index with more ups-and-downs than @MumsGoneTo's 'Whorehouse' drawers.

Now, I wanted to do something special today, in honour of my 250th (yes!) post. But I can't, simply can't do Desert Island Discs because I'm so damned indecisive. What I CAN bring you, however, is my eight least favourite records of all time, and then challenge you all to compile your own lists. So, without further ado, here are my eight Desert Island Dicks:

1. Genesis: Mama - now I'm sure this is a great song, and I actually have to own up to quite liking Genesis (post Gabriel). But this song seemed to be the only one ever playing in the Union Bar during my first term at uni. Somebody liked it. A lot. And that somebody ruined it by playing in incessantly on the bloody juke-box. I have never before or since come quite so close to committing murder. If I'd not been kept awake by the same eejit playing his music wall-shakingly loud at two in the morning, I probably would have done.

2. Ultravox: Vienna. See above. Almost identical story, except this was in Year Two. In fact, there are some New Romantic tunes I quite like (what's the one with that great piano introduction?) but you can have far too much of a good thing. And they were so pretentious! Those whooping dentists-chair voices; that hair.

3. Mahler: almost anything by... For those of you unfamiliar with Gustav's oeuvre, don't bother. Especially if it's one of his extremely long-winded, self-indulgent symphonies. The guy couldn't orchestrate his way out of a paper bag, which is why he needs such HUGE forces and never knew when to say goodbye. But because he was Austrian, he's revered. And that Brahms isn't much better either.

4. The Carpenters: complete works.  And you can add to that almost everything in the Country and Western genre.

5. Toni Basil: Mickey. I mean, what is that song FOR?

6. Aled Jones: and what is HE for?

7. Housemartins: Caravan of Love.... for all I know the Isley Brothers version is probably fine, but it is my firm and unshakeable belief that Paul Heaton has the vocal ability of a semi-asphyxiated guinea-pig. And probably smells as bad. Add 'Build' (pah-pah-pah-pah.....) to the list as well.

8. Aga-doo: I can hardly bring myself to write the name. It physically makes my flesh creep to hear that 'song'. Can you call it a song? I know it's trying to be funny. Its' 'fun', people tell me. Well, I've had more fun undergoing major surgery - something I wouldn't be averse to subjecting the perpetrators of this musical nonsense to, given half a chance. Honestly, my two-year-old could do better. In fact, he has.

So there you have it. My eight worst records ever. If I've included any of your favourites, I'm sorry. Get your own back by including some of mine. Like I said, the list is so large you've every chance of picking one. So, over to you.

Go on, you know you want to.

What are your Desert Island Dicks?
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